And just as my friend had hoped—perhaps even envisioned—we found ourselves sharing a genuine moment of connection at precisely the right moment.

I can sit for hours, simply watching the tide—how it moves in, how it moves out. The rhythm of it. The patience of it. The quiet understanding that not everything needs to be rushed. 

And over time, that idea became more than a metaphor. It became a way of being. A quiet knowing that even if the branch beneath me were to break, I would not fall—because I have wings… 

I often think about how much of my journey exists because someone before me refused to give up. Someone dared to imagine more. Someone believed that the world could be different.